


Illusion and Magic

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Paternoster Row: the spinoff [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reports of fairy sightings bring Jenny and Vastra to the small town of Candleleigh to investigate. Danger swirls around the two girls at the heart of the mystery, but for whom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusion and Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this story is based off of the Cottingley Fairies Hoax. Yes, I know that Torchwood did an episode based on the Cottingley Fairies Hoax. How many times did the Doctor destroy Atlantis, again?

An excited knock brings Strax to the door of Paternoster Row. “Good morning sir, boy. May I take your coats and offer you a sidearm?” Doyle boggles at the offer, but Anaya simply offers him her cloak.

“I don't think that will be necessary,” she says. “Are the mistresses of the house in?”

“This way,” Strax offers. “Kindly watch your step, as I have been updating the booby-traps in the dining room.” 

***

“Have you seen the news?” Doyle asks once they had finished breakfast back in the greenhouse.

“The strike by London matchgirls for safer working conditions?” Jenny asks. 

“The reports from Germany that Frau Bertha Benz has completed the first long-distance test-drive of an automobile?” Vastra asks over a last bit of bacon.

Doyle doesn't flinch. “Fairies!” He spreads the paper out over the small table, pointing to an article. The article is headed by a photograph of two girls surrounded by swirling, winged creatures. “What do you think of that?” he asks, tapping the picture.

“Misses...” Vastra glances at the text, “Violet and Elizabeth Shaw certainly have an eye for composition. However, the quality of the reproduction is too poor for me to ascertain whether it is genuine or merely a very convincing fake.” Doyle scoffs at her cynicism. “Still, there is a distinct possibility that the fairies are real, and may have fallen through a corridor through time and space.”

“And they might pose a danger to Violet and Elizabeth, even if the girls don't recognize it,” Jenny adds. She pauses, then continues. “If I might suggest, madame, this case might require a subtler, perhaps more feminine hand. It might make convincing and calming the girls easier.”

“I was just about to volunteer myself—” Strax begins, but is cut off.

“To remain in London to follow up on any leads?” The Sontaran fumbles for words at this verbal ambush. “Thank you, Strax.” Vastra gives Jenny a contented smile. “Anaya, would you be opposed to accompanying us? And I suppose we will be unable to keep Dr. Doyle away from this adventure with a thousand Daleks.”

Doyle grins. “The next train leaves in an hour and a half.”

“I'd best begin packing the trunks, then,” Jenny says, and clears the tray from breakfast.

“Make certain you pack our new hand-held camera, Jenny. We may need to attempt to replicate the Shaws' methods.”

***

The train ride through the countryside is quite pleasant, and the four of them pack neatly into a single carriage. “I feel quite confident that this endeavor will justify my faith in the supernatural,” Doyle proclaims. 

Jenny rolls her eyes. “If you'll pardon my saying so, it's a good thing you remember to live in the real world most of the time.”

“My sisters and I would often pray to the Goddess before battle,” Vastra reveals. “I doubt we fought harder or took fewer wounds. And we certainly did not ignore what we had learned of tactics out of some daft notion of divine protection. But it reminded us to fight with honor.” She gives the surprised Jenny a small smile. “Just because some members of a certain flavor of a certain branch of a certain creed of the dominant religion of your region are closed-minded bigots does not mean that all believers everywhere and every when are.”

“That's well and good for you,” Jenny snorts as Anaya sits contemplatively. “Doesn't do me as much good.”

“I have often thought that what one does is as important as why,” Anaya says at last. She blushes. “I am sorry that you have been turned out by your family, Jenny.”

Jenny touches Anaya's arm. “Not your fault. Wouldn't expect anything different, looking back.”

Anaya shrugs. “I know. I certainly don't expect perfection.”

Doyle smiles. “I must not as a man of faith, and I may not as a man of science. And without either set of experiences, I doubt I would be the man I am today.” 

***

“Dr. Doyle, sir,” Jenny begins as they step off the train, baggage trailing behind them. “I had thought you said that Candleleigh was a quiet little hamlet.”

“It—oh.” He turns to look at the town: still small, but now bustling with people, many of them tourists or reporters. “Excuse me,” he says, tapping the elbow of a young, olive-skinned woman with the look of a member of the press. “Is this all for the fairy girls?”

“Rachel Beer, with the Observer.” She recites a practiced, perfunctory introduction from habit. “Yes—the whole town is rather proud, and the nation is curious.” She reaches for a pencil and pad. “And who did you say you were?” 

“Dr. Arthur Conan Doyle, and these are my associates.” He introduces Vastra, Jenny, and Anaya in turn.

“The notorious Veiled Detective? Are you here to investigate the Shaws as well?”

“As a rule, I do not discuss investigations until they are completed, and of course Dr. Doyle has the first claim on the literary fruits of my exploits, though,” her eyes twinkle, “we would not be opposed to some further discussion at a later point.”

“Well, you can hardly fault me for following you in the hopes of stumbling across something newsworthy.” Her eyes flash and her voice lowers. “If you're looking for a place to stay and poke around the Shaws, you can hardly do worse than the Golden Crown Inn—Ned Shaw is the proprietor and his wife Margaret does the cooking.”

“Lead on then,” Vastra declares. “Why don't you join us for tea? It might be nice to have a reporter's eye for this case.”

***

Fortunately, there are exactly three beds left at the Golden Crown, which means that no-one tries too hard to unravel their normal sleeping arrangement or puts much thought into the decision. The tea is good, and Doyle purchases one of the photographs of the girls with their winged friends. Ned looks at them a bit strangely, but that is hardly unusual. Vastra takes a lens to the picture as the others chat around the table.

“The girls take the pictures themselves, they say,” Rachel points out. “But their parents sell them at the inn.”

“That so?” Jenny asks. “Has anyone else seen or photographed the fairies?”

“Not that I've heard of,” Rachel reveals.

“Perhaps they are shy,” Anaya offers.

“The frustrating part is that we have heard rumors of fairies who will only appear to certain people, usually children. And they tend to be the most dangerous.” Jenny grits her teeth and flips through a book on fairy legends. “They could be Amadan Dubh, madness bringers, or Bendith y Mamau or Sithich, who steal children, or Corrigans, who also steal babies, or something harmless like a Skillywidden or Pixie, or even something handy like a Seelie.” She sighs and gestures to the book, which is mostly text with some fanciful illustrations. “Unfortunately, not many photographs of real fairies out there to compare these to.”

“Simple examination with a lens reveals nothing conclusive, though I should like to use some of our more...specialized...equipment.” Vastra sighs. “I doubt that will shed any light either. These pictures are either extremely good fakes...or there is some enchantment upon them which I can neither detect nor conclusively rule out.”

“Such is the nature of faith, my dear Vastra.”

“Faith won't save those girls,” Jenny counters.

“Nor will it doom them, I suspect.” Rachel smiles. “None so faithful as the convert, as they say. Still, I somehow managed to get through the first thirty years of my life without the blessings of the god I now worship.” 

“Excuse me,” a teenage boy interrupts, “I couldn't help but overhear your conversation.” He brushes dark, curly hair from his forehead. “Are you here to debunk the fairy girls, too?”

“We are here to inquire further,” Vastra corrects, gesturing for him to sit and join them. “I find it best to keep an open mind until one has gathered all the facts.” She glances from the boy to Doyle and back again. “And who might you be?” 

“Harry Houdini, at your service.” He blushes. “That doesn't sound too ridiculous, does it? I'm still trying it out.”

“That depends entirely on your chosen profession, I expect.” Vastra says. She and Jenny manage to keep a straight face.

“I'd like to be a magician and escape artist,” Houdini says.

“I think it will suit you,” Vastra observes. “You know, I have some experience in show business myself, though in my current line of work, the ability to break out of ropes and handcuffs might be a useful trick. Would you care to exchange tidbits at some point?”

“Gladly!” Houdini extends a hand, and they shake.

“I hope you don't mind if I eavesdrop?” Rachel asks. “There's bound to be a story there somewhere.”

“By all means,” Vastra says magnanimously. She turns to Jenny. “Do you and Dr. Doyle wish to begin examining that photograph? I should like to tread carefully upon this matter, and to do that I must have as much information as possible before I act. I shall send Anaya if I require you.” Jenny nods, and she and the medical man leave to go upstairs.

***

Jenny wipes her brow as she peers over the picture with a high-powered lens. “Picture-taking's a bit of a double-edged sword for us. Sure, it comes in handy,” she gestures to the cutting-edge, hand-held camera lying on the dresser, “when it comes to documenting crime-scenes and tracking missing people and such-like.” She sighs and feeds the picture into a scanner. “But it does make concealing Madame's...condition...harder.”

“You must thank whatever you pray to that most Englishmen are too polite to ask,” Doyle opines as they wait for the results. “I am afraid that technology will not reverse course to please you.”

Jenny shrugs. “If it comes to that, perhaps we'll retire to the countryside. Nice little town like this where people won't ask questions.”

“Will there be enough to hold your attention?”

“Oh, Dr. Doyle,” Jenny grins. “People commit crimes everywhere. If there are more in the city, that's because there are more people there. But folks are folks.” The scanner emits a dejected burble. “Nothing,” Jenny says.

“What does that mean?” Doyle asks. 

“Could mean that it's a hoax.” She shrugs. “Or it could mean that there's something there that we can't detect. Come on, let's tell Madame.”

***

Vastra sighs as Jenny relays the inconclusive news. “I had feared as much.”

“What now?” Anaya asks.

“I believe I will send a telegram to Strax letting him know we have arrived safely and perhaps give him some further instructions,” Vastra decides. “And then perhaps we should find some other entertainment in Candleleigh for the evening, and tomorrow we may make a proper start of it, with fresh eyes and a full night's sleep.” She tilts her head toward Rachel. “Have you any suggestions?”

“There's a local scholar doing readings from Spenser's Faerie Queen,” she offers. “A shameless attempt to capitalize on the fad, but he has a good voice.”

“Perhaps a bit of a stroll through the town, before the light fades,” Anaya offers. “I could use a chance to stretch my legs.” The others nod assent, and they settle their tab.

***

“Telegram for you,” Nellie says, handing Strax the sheet of paper. Vastra had asked her to investigate the telegraph offices in case the Dalek was trying anything with the electrical lines, so the fact that she had been there when the message arrived had been pure chance. She and Henry had dashed over, eager to see the news from Candleleigh.

“Thank you, boys.” Strax takes the telegram and walks into the hall, Henry and Nellie trailing behind him, peeking over his shoulders. “Strax. Stop.” He immediately ceases walking, causing both teens to bang into him. “Confound it! How did madame know I was walking? Have you been spying on me? And how dare she give me such capricious orders?!”

“Strax, they use 'stop' to signify the end of a sentence in a telegram,” Henry enlightens him. “You don't actually have to come to a dead halt.” He elbows the sturdily-built Sontaran; he had banged his knee running into him.

“Have arrived safely stop.” Henry and Nellie catch themselves before they run into Strax this time. “Ah, yes, I see now. Investigate abandoned factories or warehouses stop.”

“No news of how they are doing, then.” Nellie sighs. “I think I should like to be swept up by the fair folk sometimes. I might get bored with an eternity of revels and parties, but it's a risk I'm willing to run.” She giggled and pretended to swoon. 

“I'd rather you stayed here with me,” Henry says, trying to sound gallant.

“Oh, you could come too!” Nellie twirls about him. “Wouldn't you like that?”

“Probably too good to be true,” he replies gruffly.

“Says the boy running around having adventures with charming girls and strange creatures,” Nellie teases.

“That won't last forever!” Henry barks at last, getting frustrated. “And then what?” Neither of them has an answer.

***

“So, Anaya, what do you want to do with your life?” Rachel asks.

She blushes and remained silent for a moment. “I don't know,” she says at last, confidently.

“Neither did I when I was your age.” She laughs. “Fortunately, I married a very wealthy man who loves me deeply and encourages me to do what I like—I don't know what I would do without him. And so here I am, writing features for a national newspaper.”

“I think I'm much too shy to conduct interviews,” Anaya says. “I'd better do something else, then.”

Rachel laughs and puts her arm around Anaya. “That, dear child, sounds very wise. Although,” she holds a finger to her lips as Vastra and Houdini trade anecdotes ahead of them, “you can learn quite a lot merely by listening.” Anaya nods at this advice, and joins her in listening.

“Why did you get out of performing?” Houdini asks.

“Both of the jobs which I took traded on my deformity,” Vastra says, staying circumspect. “The first was rather pleasant: I would juggle and throw knives, and the pay and conditions were good. However, that situation...did not last. And I found myself literally in a cage, put on display as an animal. I hope you can understand that the experience soured me on performance, though I still look back fondly on my earlier days. Were I to return to the circus now, however, I should think of nothing but the cage and how to escape.”

“I understand entirely,” Houdini says with a grin. “We all have cages that we struggle to break out of—some more literal than others. My family, for instance, has left the Old World behind for America—I myself am only here to visit a few friends and perform a few tricks, though I will likely soon return to the States.”

“I have every confidence in your success.” Vastra gives him a knowing wink as Doyle joins them and she walks ahead to talk privately with Jenny.

“I strongly doubt that these fairies are linked in any way to the Dalek we are chasing,” Vastra confides.

“But there's something troubling you,” Jenny observes.

“These girls—and, indeed, this entire village—could be in very serious danger,” Vastra says, letting out a breath.

“I still figure it's a fraud,” Jenny says derisively. “Ain't it obvious? The girls' parents run the biggest inn in town. The publicity means they're booked solid and can probably double their rates. Oh, and they've got the market cornered on those photographs, which are selling like hotcakes. And not a trace of alien activity anywhere? If this isn't a scam, why, I'll eat your hat.”

Vastra smiles and traces a subtle, soothing pattern on the back of Jenny's neck. “Our instruments are hardly infallible, my love. Still, your premises are certainly solid.” She drums idly with her fingers upon Jenny's shoulder for a moment before continuing. “If young master Houdini is amenable, recruit him to help you investigate the girls' parents. I shall ask Doyle and Anaya to root around the nearby forests—if anyone will see fairies there, it will be our true believer. And perhaps Mrs. Beer would be so good as to arrange an interview with myself and young misses Violet and Elizabeth Shaw.”

“In the meantime, dramatic readings of centuries old verse?” Jenny offers Vastra her arm, and the two stroll off.

***

“Madame?” Jenny asks as she lets down her hair for the night. “What do you want to do when we stop solving mysteries?”

“I must say I never put any thought into such a distant day,” Vastra admits “Apart from setting aside some of our earnings and investing them prudently.” A small laugh escapes her lips. “It is hard not to invest solely in brands which I know to be ubiquitous decades from now. Why do you ask?”

“Just something Doyle and I were talking about, about retiring to the countryside.”

“That might be pleasant,” Vastra decides. “Would you want to travel from village to village, or find some little hamlet where we could spend our days settled down.”

Jenny laughs as she tucks into bed beside Vastra. “I can't imagine settling down yet; I'm still a girl. It seems like there's so much of the world yet to see!”

“At any rate, no matter what we do, we shall have to find someone trustworthy to look after our home on Paternoster Row.” Vastra gazes out the window before drawing the curtains. “Our vault contains much that must remain out of the wrong hands, yet it would be a pity to destroy its treasures. And that is nothing to say of the more exotic varieties in our greenhouse. I believe a few of them may be sentient, and to destroy them would be a great crime.” 

“Explains why I feel like I'm being watched sometimes in there.” Jenny shivers and draws closer to Vastra, more for comfort than for warmth. “I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise, given the different creatures we've seen. They don't mean any harm, do they?”

“Most plant-based civilizations are peaceful and contemplative to a fault, though of course there are always those which are more destructive.”

“A few bad apples, eh?” Vastra pushes Jenny away from her in mock-disgust before pulling her even closer. “Sorry, madame; I couldn't resist. Still, I feel better knowing that they're there, now. D'you think they'd like it if I sang while I gardened? They say plants like it when you play music.”

“I usually like the sound of your voice. But perhaps nothing too vulgar, Jenny—wouldn't want to spark an interstellar feud.”

“Not when there's nobody paying us to clean it up,” Jenny adds with a wink. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Sleep well, my sweet,” Vastra replies before kissing her goodnight and turning off the last lamp.

***

Vastra's proposed allocation of labor meets with approval after breakfast, and so Anaya and Doyle take to the woods, photograph in hand, trying to track down the particular glade where it was taken. 

“Lovely bit of wilderness here,” Doyle remarks. “Proper English forest.” He peers at a clump of trees and frowns. “Don't suppose you've ever been to India or the Middle East?”

Anaya shakes her head. “Born and bred here in Britain.”

“Shame; I was hoping you might help me with some details from Watson's background as they came up.” Doyle shifts the pack of equipment on his back. “Never thought those stories would catch on the way they did,” he admits.

“You sound disappointed,” Anaya observes.

“It's not that I don't like having these marvelous adventures and jotting down notes and turning them into a popular series of short stories...” he trails off for a moment and takes a breath. “I just wish that people would read my other works. I like to think that I'm a talented writer, but if all people care about is Holmes and Watson...”

“...then maybe anyone could do it and be successful?” Anaya shrugs. “I'd just be glad that I had a steady thing going, not to mention a medical practice.” She hops up onto a rock and balances there, eye-to-eye with Doyle. “What do you think? Could I become a doctor? Or a great writer?”

Doyle helps her down from the precarious perch. “I daresay the world is changing rapidly enough. Perhaps you could. Certainly I would not have thought Ms. Beer would have been permitted to write for a newspaper when I was a boy, but perhaps that is merely an old man talking.” He chuckles (he is only thirty, after all) and lets the sun shine on his face. “I only hope that rural Britain remains as charming as she does now.”

***

“Hello: I'm Rachel Beer, with the Observer, and this is Madame Vastra, the detective,” Rachel begins as she introduces them to Ned Shaw. “We were wondering if we might talk to your daughters, maybe let the country see the human side of the story behind the magic.”

Ned laughs and spits. “Reporters and detectives, all the way from London to look at my little girls? Ain't that something else? Never going to get old as far as I'm concerned. Leastways not as long as they're still lining up to rent my rooms and buy my stew.” He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Vastra for a long moment. “Lots of folks come up here, try to figure out what Violet and Lizzie are doing. None of 'em have done it yet. Whenever they hear someone smart's thrown up their hands an' quit, that seems to bring in another barrow-load of folks who figure they're smarter than he was. You've got a reputation for being mighty smart, but I reckon you won't be able to solve this one, neither. So be my guest.” He gives them a cocksure grin. “I'll go fetch 'em; there's a room in back where you can talk.”

***

Houdini and Jenny slink behind him, ducking into a side passage and waiting as all three Shaws walk past. “You sneak pretty well,” Houdini whispers.

“I practice while wearing petticoats and a crinoline,” she replies with a bright grin. “You aren't too bad yourself.”

“The waistcoat and trousers look does suit you,” he admits, fishing out his lockpicks.

“And they have plenty of pockets,” she adds, producing her own. “After you.”

He opens the door and she closes it behind them. “Looks pretty normal,” he notes, glancing at their beds. “Check for any hidden spaces in the walls.”

“Naturally,” Jenny rejoins, tapping gently.

“Oh, you are good.” He grins and checks the desks for hidden drawers. “Look, I know this a bit sudden, but would you come back to America with me?” Jenny nearly bashes in her skull on the bedframe she had crawled under. “We could go into business together as magicians, tour the world, see how things go. I mean, I had a lot of fun at the poetry reading last night, and you seem terrific...”

Jenny cuts him off as she straightens up and brushes the dust from her clothes. “Sorry, no. Not that I don't think you're brilliant or anything. I'm just not interested, is all.”

“Oh, I understand completely!” Houdini blushes. “It was a silly thing to say.”

Jenny takes a deep breath. She doesn't particularly want to lead the boy on, but... “Following your heart is never silly. Trust me.” She gives him a kiss on the forehead. “Maybe if we go across the pond, we'll pay you a visit.”

“I'd like that,” Houdini says.

***

“The famous detective,” Violet says, once they are seated. She is tall for a girl, and full-figured, already becoming a young woman. “but not her...friend?” If that last word means anything, Vastra knows, inexpert at reading apes she may be, it does not mean friend. This will not be an easy task.

“Oh, Jenny likes to go dashing off on her own from time to time.” Vastra's tone is cool, civil. “I am often surprised by what she turns up.”

Now it is she who holds the edge for the moment, she knows as Violet and Elizabeth trade a glance. Something to hide, then. “Oh, the fair folk are hard to find unless they want to be found,” Violet says rather easily. “Or unless they come looking to find you.” A threat from one so young? There is certainly no mirth in the words.

“You two seem to have little enough trouble bending them to your beck and call,” Vastra probes. “Or is it they who are your masters?” Her instinct is to fight, even outnumbered (for she expects that Rachel will do nothing but take notes, and wonders, belatedly, if the other woman has an agenda of her own) and with unfamiliar weapons. But Vastra is here to explore, and, if possible, to help. Are they being watched, even now?

“The fairies can be unpredictable,” Elizabeth begins.

“But they mean us no harm,” Violet concludes. Another veiled threat, Vastra notes, and the duo seem able to complete each other's sentences. Psychic ability, possibly amplified by the fair folk? Or have they simply practiced this routine?

“Can you be sure that they are what they claim?” Vastra asks, still prying for information, trying to provide them with ways to communicate their distress subtly if they are under surveillance. 

“Are we sure that you are what you claim?” Violet turns the question upon her ruthlessly. “Your skin condition is certainly tragic and...unusual. And where precisely is Siluria located?” 

Vastra tries badly not to show how closely the barb has landed. “I would not presume to judge my fellows on the color of their skin or their country of origin,” she retorts, voice cold. She regrets using Rachel as a catspaw, but the stakes are high, and she is rewarded with the hint of a blush from each girl. Not being directly controlled by the fairies, then, she decides, if they are still capable of feeling embarrassment. That means that the girls themselves are decidedly more capable foes than she had dreamed. Well, this will be fun.

***

Jenny is probing a pillow with a needle when the door slams open. 

“We can explain,” Houdini gets out just before Ned Shaw buries his fist in the boy's gut. Jenny takes full advantage of the opening so generously provided and flips Ned onto his back. He lands on the floor with a thud and a grunt, and Jenny is rather surprised to see Houdini plant a foot on Ned's chest.

“You've no right to be in here,” Ned bellows. 

Jenny ignores him. “You alright?”

Houdini nods. “I learned how to take a punch real young,” he explains. He grins, and Jenny thinks fleetingly that the future Mrs. Houdini will be a lucky woman indeed. “I'll show you if you teach me how to throw a man like that.” 

“Done,” Jenny says, and looks down at Ned. “Help him up,” she says. “These nails are new.”

“You can't just walk into a man's house and rip up his floor,” Ned begins.

“Can't I?” Jenny replies, almost coyly, as she produces a crowbar.

“The nails are shorter,” Houdini observes. “They barely go through the wood at all.” He winks at her. “I'll have to remember that.” 

Under the floorboards is a hidden cavity, and in the dusty space is a book. Jenny's eyes go wide when she opens its pages.

***

Vastra, Violet, and Elizabeth are glaring icily at one another as Jenny bursts breathlessly into the room, book in hand. As one, both girls deflate. “Consider this one solved, madame,” Jenny reports. She fans the pages of the book, and out fall pictures of fairies, wonderfully detailed. 

“I was so proud of my girls,” Ned Shaw says, trailing into the room, a broken man. “Not everybody can talk to the fair folk, and they handled it all so well. I was so proud...” he echoes.

“So they did, and so you should be,” Vastra rebukes him. “Your daughters clearly have strong business heads, cool intellects, and keen artistic gifts. While I might wish that they had chosen to employ those talents for something other than a con...it was a very good con, capable of fooling thousands of people.”

“What will happen to us now?” Violet asks, once she is able to speak. 

“I expect that will rather depend upon what you do,” Vastra says with a grin. “I doubt you will be able to return to a life of deceit, once Mrs. Beer has published her expose, for even the most thick-headed members of the public will not be twice fooled. But if you apply your talents, I should imagine that a fine career awaits the pair of you, perhaps in stagecraft or the photographic arts. Jenny and I are not affiliated with the police, but I cannot envision charges being pressed.”

“I'll have to give you a stern talking-to anyhow,” Ned reckons. “Might have been impressive trouble, but it was still a heap of trouble you two caused.” He beckons with his arms and draws them into a hug. “Probably just as well you two weren't mucking about with fairies, anyway.”

“Come, Jenny,” Vastra whispers. “I expect we should leave the Shaws to their own devices, and I shall want to hear of your exploits.”

***

The newspaper beats Jenny, Vastra, Doyle, and Anaya back to Paternoster Row, and Nellie and Henry are there to greet their friends. “I am still distraught to learn that the fairies of Candleleigh were naught but paper cut-outs!” Doyle laments. 

“It certainly would have been exciting to think of real-life fairies, here in England,” Nellie agrees. “Magical kingdoms and immortal lords...”

“Perhaps my perspective is unique, but I am just as pleased to learn that there is such ingenuity among humans,” Vastra announces. “We meet new, alien species daily, it seems, and it can almost be somewhat tiresome. But to see new examples of the cunning of a familiar group is rather exciting.”

“Well,” says Jenny at last, “I suppose you can think of them as two extremely clever young women who managed to hoax half of England. Or, if you prefer, two she-devils using their god-given talents to sow chaos and discord. Not sure which is more impressive after all.” Vastra favored her with a judicious smile.

***

“Do you think we will see anything more of the Shaw sisters?” Vastra asks Jenny as they lie in bed that night.

“I expect they won't set a foot wrong—they've got reputations to repair now. And from what you've said, if they get into trouble, I think they can handle themselves.” Jenny laughs as she remembers a previously-omitted detail. “I forgot to mention! That Houdini boy asked me to come to America with him!”

“And did you accept?” Vastra's claws tighten with fear. 

“Of course not, Madame.” Jenny kisses her on the cheek. “Bit young for me. Not scaly enough. Or female.” Vastra laughs, tension deflated. “And he certainly isn't you.” Jenny draws her lady-love into an embrace, and Vastra dims the gas for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> In 1888, London matchgirls struck for better pay and safer working conditions. That same year, Bertha Benz, wife and business partner of Karl Benz takes one of her husband's first cars for a test-drive. 
> 
> The Cottingley Fairies Hoax isn't until 1917, which is why I changed all of the names. 
> 
> Rachel Beer became the first woman to edit a national newspaper in 1891, but before that she was a reporter. She was born Rachel Sassoon in 1858, in India, to Iraqi Jewish parents. She later converted to Christianity when she married financier Frederick Beer in 1887. The poet Siegfried Sassoon was her nephew.
> 
> Harry Houdini's magical career starts in 1891, so we have a very young Houdini here, one who is still thinking about starting said career. He will eventually marry a woman named Bess, who becomes his assistant; it's not hard to imagine that he pictured a similar role for the talented Jenny Flint. Houdini and Doyle were good friends, and Doyle genuinely believed that Houdini had supernatural powers, despite the fact that Houdini was constantly trying to debunk those who claimed to be truly magical. Replacing longer nails with shorter ones was apparently one of the legendary magician's many tactics in his escapes.
> 
> The first handheld camera makes its appearance in 1889.
> 
> Jenny's opinion that there are as many crimes in the country as the city should sound familiar to readers of the Adventure of the Copper Beeches.


End file.
